Everybody Wants To Rule The World
by Vaecordia
Summary: Cold War, 1949. Ivan laughed. It was cold, humourless - betraying the winter of a heart colder than Siberia, a frozen hellfire. But it wasn't as if none of this was reflected in Alfred's cataclysmic eyes, too. "Such magnanimity - truly, I am touched." Warnings: Cold War, violence, (kind of) dark Alfred/Ivan, becomes lighter towards the end. RusAme.


**Warnings for:** my stupid obsession with the Cold War, Cold War RusAme, RusAme, dark America, dark Ivan, mentions of nuclear weapons, historical rambling and context and all, violence, some more violence, _very_ obvious references and implications, poor attempts at humour. And I'm kind of scared some bits are OOC with the fic's context, but at least I tried. It begins much darker than it ends, though. Plus, obviously, language.

* * *

 _It's my own desire_  
 _It's my own remorse_

May 1949

"You realize I can keep doing this for far longer than you can imagine?" Alfred asked, a self-satisfied lilt in his voice.

A sneer answered him from the other side of the table. "Do you really think I would engage in a battle I do not think I can win?"

Alfred looked at the Soviet with boredom. "I wouldn't put it past you, seeing you're still going on about communism," he jabbed.

Arthur tried to interject. "Alfred, I do not think this is the right-"

"Not now," Alfred hissed at the Englishman. He backed down, a bitter but not defying look on his face. Turning back to Ivan, he leaned forward in the comfortable chair. The other nations at the meeting began fidgeting and shifting uncomfortably at the look on both superpowers' faces.

"And yet, you refuse to accept that it may be your ideology that is doomed to fail."

Alfred scoffed. "Oh, please, we've had this argument a thousand times! Capitalism existed _before_ you even thought of communism!"

"Merely because the people did not know any better. Have you not seen how your people are warming to my ideals? Have you not seen the rallies screaming for the fall of the upper class?" Ivan's voice swung in the air like a child on a swing, high and low, taunting and sweet.

"That's because _you're_ trying to force them to accept your insane ideals," Alfred glared.

"If only that were true, you would have a fairly good reason to hate me - except it is not, and you are clinging to invented arguments," Ivan smiled, a smile promising much more pain than it should. "But we are straying, Alfred - I think you were saying something else?"

Alfred leaned back in the chair, a face devoid of emotion. "See, _Vanya,_ " Alfred pronounced the nickname pointedly, _"_ you getting pissed off about what _I_ do in _my_ zone doesn't matter to me. Hell, I let you do whatever the hell you please in yours!" He flung his hands about, a show of uncaring, but an attempt to establish control. _I am comfortable. I own this place. This is my playground._ "But when you get pissed off, and block _me_ from getting to _my_ area and _my_ part of Berlin, that's when it becomes _my_ business. So how about you back the fuck down, and I'll let it slide this time." His lips twisted into a grin.

Ivan laughed. It was cold, humourless - betraying the winter of a heart colder than Siberia, a frozen hellfire. But it wasn't as if none of this was reflected in Alfred's cataclysmic eyes, too. "Such magnanimity - truly, I am touched. I feel so touched, in fact, by your pardoning words, that I think I will back down." Alfred glared viciously at the derisive tone Ivan's words held. "That we will forget this ever happened. That I will let you win this time - oh, but what if I let you win every time! Wouldn't that please you, _Fedya_? You would surely like that, would you not? It would soothe your ego, and it would put you at the top of the world, would it not?"

"It will happen either way, I'm just trying to save your time," Alfred sneered, his voice dismissive and irritated. In Ivan's ears, the American's vicious, biting tone was a sweet melody.

"I'm sure you are," Ivan countered, a snarl playing on his lips. "You can believe me when I say I _will not bow down_ to you like every other country you've made your _bitch_." The words were enunciated, drawn apart to dig them deeper into Alfred's skin, as if attempting to carve into his flesh, words of burning defiance.

Alfred laughed, breathy and light. "And you can believe me that in time, _you will_." He smiled gently, his lips twisting in an inexplicably wrong way. It was a terrifying smile, hinting to a violence never seen before. There was no doubt the American what the American was imagining himself doing. "Problem is, we both now promised something to each other - except we can't both keep that vow. One of us is going to have to break it," Alfred said, a childish frown of confusion on his features, as if disappointed by the realisation he had just come to. And a look of mock concern came onto his features with the next sentence. "How're you gonna cope when that person is you?"

"I don't think I need to contemplate on that - seeing as far before that day comes, you will have been on your knees, begging for mercy for longer than you'll remember," Ivan scorned, a deriding tone creating edges to his voice. Edges like knives, sharp and stinging.

Alfred sat up in his chair, readjusting his position as anger flared in him. "You need to get your pronouns straightened out. Or maybe pay a visit to a doctor, that kind of illusion isn't healthy."

"Wouldn't you know about illusions - illusions of grandeur, of domination, of power," Ivan smirked, a cruel smile stretched once more on his features.

Their actions mirrored each other's, both slowly standing up to attempt to intimidate the other into backing down.

Alfred pointed an accusatory finger at the Soviet. "Says the one who thinks he can stop me from claiming back what is mine with a pathetic _blockade!_ Do you really think that a few blocked borders and railways are going to prevent me from getting what I want?"

"Alfred, really, this isn't-"

Alfred glared darkly at the Englishman. "I think you're out of your depth here, Arthur, you're no longer key in these kinds of affairs." Alfred leaned towards him, whispering in a tone more dangerous than his usual, "I think you'd find yourself in a nasty predicament if I happened to want my money back, hm? Which is _exactly_ what will happen if one of my so-called allies is suddenly found to be siding with the Soviet Union over there. Do you understand me?" Arthur looked ready to say something, before settling for a silent and angered look. Alfred smiled. "Good." He turned back to Ivan, his smile still plastered on his face. "I think this conversation is something we should deal with between ourselves."

Ivan looked around the meeting room, at the uncertain nations. "Oh, I think we're perfectly fine. They should be just as much part of world politics as you and I are, no?" A devious look came to his eyes. "Or is this once more about how only the powerful matter?"

"If you're so dead-set on bending my politics against me, at least do it properly - it's pathetic listening to your misguided views on things you don't quite seem to understand." Blue eyes met with violet, both flaming furiously.

Ivan's eyes flashed, a wicked glint settling in them. "That's not the only thing about you that I like to see bent - preferably over a table or a bed," he smirked, a smugness painted on his features.

Alfred's jaw set, and his back straightened to full height. As he spoke the next words, his eyes never left the Russian opposite him. "I think you and I have something to straighten out. In private." His voice darkened, as did his gaze. " _Get out,_ " he ground out between his teeth, and the nations gathered in the room took it as their cue to leave.

"Can't have the world seeing your failure?" There was a moment's pause that swept through every nation in the room as Alfred's anger flared.

"Get back in here!" Alfred shouted to the nations that were just about to leave, and from the corner of his eye he could see the reactions rippling across nations. They were undecided, nervous, scared of the two superpowers. He knew his sudden switch in attitude amused Ivan, but he could care less at the moment. In his opinion, it had been long enough since he last showed the world exactly _why_ he was a superpower. Perhaps he could refresh their memory, and humiliate Ivan in the process. "You fucking communist bastard - do you have any _bite_ with your barks?" Alfred shot, his nerves drawn taut, his whole body tense and ready to attack.

"I think you have seen that _bite_ you so wish to see with Berlin! I _will_ drive you out of there, and you will have only yourself to blame!"

Alfred scoffed, a kind of half-hysterical laugh edging into his voice. "Only myself? _Only my fucking self?_ How the fuck is it my fault if you decide to blockade me, completely out of the blue, with absolutely no reason whatsoever? How?!"

"It is when you decide to attempt to undermine _my_ authority within Germany. It is when you decide it is preferable to see a strong Germany once again, who might just as well cause the next World War. It is when you decide you'd rather see Europe in ruins than a half-peace settled there. It is when you _blatantly_ attack me and my beliefs, disregard the terms of the peace, and obviously would very much like to see me dead or in the hands of Germany!" Ivan's tone had risen above normal, which many nations had noted. None of them had sat down, no-one even nearing the table. Every single one of them had stayed as far as possible, one foot out the door and the other poised and ready to run. He could feel how none of them wanted to be there, and it pleased him to see that all of them knew not to go against the two arguing nations.

"That's a lie, and you know it! All I'm doing is making sure of two things - one, that Germany doesn't fall to ruin like in the '20s, unless maybe _you_ want a repeat of this fucking war; two, that Europe can stand up again, because a weak Germany means a weak Europe!" Alfred shouted.

"A weak Europe for you or for me?" Ivan questioned, his eyes glinting with malice.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"You mean a strong Germany will prevent a Europe too weak to _protect you from me_ from rising. Don't you dare lie, I know you, Alfred - you are looking for a way to weaken me, not to help your friends! You are looking for new markets, not providing protection! You are looking for new ground to occupy, to gain an advantage over me - you are doing _all you can_ to make sure that you don't fall behind," Ivan spat. "Except that like a coward, you hide behind the pretense of help, of aid, of a benevolent, idealistic lender who wants to see the world a better place. You don't - you want to see me dead, bleeding out after your bullets tear through my heart and my brain." Alfred's thin-lipped silence prompted a smug smile onto Ivan's face. "I've struck a chord, haven't I? You're realising your mistake in keeping the nations here, aren't you? Now they've all seen me expose your motives, haven't they?" Ivan chuckled, deep and ominous. "Has the cat stolen your tongue? Do you now know they are watching you, fearing you, awaiting for your reaction, but see only your true intents?"

Alfred's expression had gone blank, empty and hollow and dead. And then, he clucked his tongue, amused disappointment painted on his features. Suddenly, a wolfish grin distorted his facial features - a dark expression, with such a threat of calamity as had never been seen by the other nations. "Of course I know that." _I revel in it._ His glare towards the Soviet turned fiery, attempting to burn holes into his soul. If he even had one - which he doubted. Alfred collected his things from the table and cleared his files and papers (meaningless, useless scribbling down of affairs that he didn't care about). He stood straighter as he faced a curious Ivan. "This is most certainly not over, _Vanya._ " Alfred's head tilted with a soft smile. "I'll wait."

As he moved away from the table and towards the group of nations at the door, Ivan spoke. "And you expect me to know, from all the rooms in all the hotels in this city, which one is yours?"

Alfred stopped in his tracks, and turned. "I suspected you'd know already. Has the KGB not managed to get a hold of that information yet?" Alfred grinned.

Ivan snorted. "I was merely being polite. Something I doubt you would know about," he quipped.

Alfred dropped his suitcase and went to stand right in front of Ivan. The entire world held its breath in that moment. " _Listen_ , you arrogant, self-righteous, hypocritical, deceitful _bastard_. I invited you for a friendly drink, so you either accept or you don't. Before that, you either drop the fuckin' attitude, or can kiss my fist hello."

Ivan arched a silver eyebrow. "Oh, sorry - I spaced out for a moment, thinking you were speaking to yourself." Alfred grabbed his collar and hurled him at the wall, coming to stand dangerously close. "Someone seems to be in the mood for rough play today," Ivan smirked against Alfred's ear.

Alfred huffed. "You'll get to see just how _right_ you are when you decide to drop by."

"But I have not yet accepted your invitation?" Ivan played, and their eyes met. Burning blue met blazing violet, apocalyptic wildfires burning bright, unrestrained and unchecked.

They held each other's gaze in a silent battle, before Alfred wordlessly stepped away from Ivan. With a last disdainful glance in the Russian's direction, he turned to march back to the doors. Picking up his case, he saw the nations make way for him without need for prompting. He was nearly out the door when, without stopping or turning back, he shot to Ivan, "You know where I am!"

And to this day, he would swear he heard a soft, nearly manic laughter follow him out the door.

* * *

The hotel room was luxurious, with ample space for Alfred to move about. The double bed was in a separate room, as was the bathroom. A dark wood nightstand stood next to the large bed of white and beige silk sheets. Alfred removed the dark gold cufflinks from his sleeves, the US emblem impressed onto them in high relief. Placing them carefully onto his nightstand, he removed his dark suit jacket and tossed it onto the bed, afterwards removing the shoulder holster with his gun tucked safely into it and did the same. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, keeping his shoes on. He remove the gun from its holster.

Moving to the other room, he examined his surroundings. This was the first day of the meeting, and he had barely had time to take in the room before the meeting. The light sofa, matching armchairs and a glass coffee table rested on a soft and plump beige fitted mat placed around a chimney and a small television screen. Behind these, against the far wall from the door was a desk littered with Alfred's documents, a brown leather chair slightly pulled outwards. The floor-to-ceiling windows next to the desk showed a magnificent evening view of the city, lights beginning to glint in the dimming light of the day. In the centre of the room was a mahogany dinner table, polished and glinting in the light of the room, with space for six people around it.

After placing his gun on the coffee table, Alfred made his way to the minibar under the desk, whose contents he had already consumed on his own, and instead had replaced with two full bottles of vodka. He took one out and placed it onto the coffee table, not caring for coasters. It would be wasted effort after the evening anyway.

Alfred would safely say his government would find itself lucky if by morning it weren't covering the costs for a new hotel room.

He went to the bedroom and fetched one of the three bottles of bourbon he had stored there, placing it next to the other bottle on the coffee table. He found two clear glasses in the bathroom, clean ones from those he had used this morning before the meeting (for hydration, Alfred would insist, and _not_ to calm him down enough to meet the infuriating Soviet representative. He could never be distressed by the nation, never.) He placed both on the glass table, before taking hold of the whiskey and pouring himself a generous amount. He went to stand in front of the grand windows, looking down at the city expanding below him. He wasn't even halfway through his drink when he heard the door open and whirled around.

There he was, looking as if he owned the goddamned place. He was shrugging off a thick black winter coat, which Alfred knew he would fling onto the couch. Alfred saw the flash of a key in the Russian's hand, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "And why would you think it's a good idea to get your hands on a key to my room and enter it unannounced?"

"Because you were expecting me," Ivan shrugged, moving into the room with an innocent smile on his face. Alfred only glared, turning back to the window.

"It's self-service here, the bottle and glass are in front of your nose. If you can see past it," Alfred jabbed, and could feel Ivan's eyes on his back. He smirked into his glass as he took a sip.

"Such quality service," Ivan snarked. "But that can be only expected from someone like you."

Alfred half-turned. "Someone like me?"

"There are a lot of words to describe you, but an uneducated, mannerless swine might fit this situation well," Ivan huffed. He poured himself an equally generous amount as Alfred had, and Alfred casually strolled towards an armchair. Ivan had dropped the coat on the back of the couch, and made himself comfortable in it. An ankle crossed over the other knee, and he knocked back his drink in one go. Alfred snorted.

"Don't tell me you're planning on getting trashed this early?"

Ivan lifted an eyebrow. "And you're not? He looked at the nearly empty glass in Alfred's hand, which was fast emptied. "And it would take more than one bottle to get me even 'buzzed'," Ivan pressed on the last word.

"Don't worry, Vanya darling, I have another one for you in the fridge," Alfred said, honeyed words fleeting in the air.

"How considerate of you, Fedya, my sweet," Ivan countered, a hybrid between a smile and a sneer on his lips.

"Tell me, Ivan, what the fuck was that at the meeting?" Alfred questioned, his face curious but his eyes already igniting.

Ivan refilled his glass, a fleeting glance sent Alfred's way. "I have no idea what you speak about," he offered with a simple grin.

Alfred's hand jerked only slightly, and Ivan's eyes snapped to the gun on the table. "You know, it's not very polite to stride into someone's apartment and keep your weapons on - when your host doesn't." Alfred looked pointedly at the invisible outline of the gun hidden inside Ivan's dark grey suit jacket.

Ivan conceded. "Alright, I confess," he said as he unbuttoned his jacket and removed it, exposing the holster and the TT-33 fitted snugly in it.

"Still sticking with the Tokarev?"

Ivan eyed Alfred's gun. "Still sticking with the Colt?"

"But we digress," Alfred pointed out, and after filling his glass again leaned back in the armchair. "It's still there, Ivan."

Ivan shot a bored look towards the American, before removing the holster and placing the gun next to Alfred's.

"And before you even start, we are _not_ playing your goddamn Roulette," Alfred said darkly.

Ivan giggled. "But last time was great fun!"

"You blew my brains out."

"As I recall it, you were fine the moment after that," the Russian pointed out, a grin tugging and playing at his lips.

"It got all over the carpet and it took me a week to recover - from the bullet and the earful I got from my boss!"

"Then, this time, don't bleed on the carpet."

Alfred's eye twitched, his muscles getting more and more impatient to tear the Soviet apart, piece by little piece. "Don't fuckin' test me."

Ivan smiled, an interested look on his features. "Oh? Test you - or _tempt you_?" His voice dropped ten degrees - in warmth and tone, into a sultry silk-like whisper.

It was Alfred's turn to knock back most of his drink. "Listen, you conceited asshole. This is _my_ playground you're in," Alfred snarled. "Just in case you forgot."

Ivan chuckled, emptying his glass once more and filling it again. Both nations' paces became faster, a slow step-by-step increase to one-up the other. It was always about beating the other. "I don't think I could quit forget that." Ivan stood, walking around the room, taking it in. Alfred eyed him suspiciously, twisting in his chair to keep his eyes upon the Russian.

"Looking for something?"

Ivan shrugged. "Just making sure there are no obvious signs of your spying upon me."

Alfred was unimpressed. "Do you really think that I'd be stupid enough to put bugs into obvious places? And do you really think I want the CIA hearing me beating you to dust? And how do I know you haven't already bugged the room anyway?" Alfred's eyes became devious. "I mean, you already knew where I was staying."

"What would be the point of me bugging a room to record events I don't want recorded?"

Alfred laughed. "Of all the points we disagree on..." Alfred shook his head, amused at the irony. They rarely agreed, but upon this they were in full agreement."Speaking of points we disagree on -" Alfred's expression darkened as he stood to face the Russian, "- how about you get your ass out of my way?"

"Could you be more precise? Do you mean from your way to Berlin, or world domination, or nuclear monopoly, or...?"

Alfred laughed. "The last one, I already have."

Both bottles were soon emptied, the nations' increasingly brash in their words - and actions.

"For now," Ivan added. Alfred ignored the comment.

"I meant Berlin. As I recall, you're such a stickler for the agreement we made, and yet you aren't letting me manage my area as I wish. What kind of double-faced politics is that?"

"The same ones as you abide, Alfred, _the exact same ones,_ " Ivan hissed. "At least I come clean about it, and don't hide behind a pretense-"

"You made that point today already!" Alfred huffed. "Are you running out of points to argue with me? Already, when this bullshit's been going on for only four years, huh? Is this the best I can get from you, _Red_?" Alfred snarled.

It was Ivan's anger that flared first, grabbing Alfred by the neck and pushing him up against the wall. Alfred chuckled, seeming entertained by the turn of events.

"Who's feeling rough now, hm?"

"You have not seen a single _bit_ of what I can and will do to you, Alfred," Ivan bit out, feeling his muscles itching to snap the American's neck. At the same time, his mind was screaming at him to make the American suffer - he deserved all of what he got, he was too young, he was too arrogant, he was too much of everything.

"Go right ahead and _try me._ "

Ivan's lips curled into a leer. "With _pleasure,_ " he jeered, keeping a tight hold on Alfred's throat before throwing him away. Alfred ended up stumbling near the couch. He righted himself quickly, his eyes glinting machiavellianly. Ivan moved around the other side of the coffee table towards his coat, and Alfred knew what was coming.

The moment he saw a glint of metal, Alfred ducked and rolled out of the way of the pipe's trajectory. He had no idea why Ivan cherished the goddamn piece of tube so much, but even he had to admit that the thing was painful. Nothing he couldn't handle, but it wasn't something he wished to experience anytime soon. Ivan hurled himself at him, pipe horizontal to Alfred. Alfred expected the impact, and caught the pipe with his own hands. Losing his footing for a second from the blow, he was driven back into the dining table - the edge dug deep into his back, and he growled viciously. He soon threw Ivan off of him and switched their positions - he pressed the pipe towards Ivan's throat in an attempt to return Ivan's previous favour. He was sure to have a few lovely bruises around his neck for the next few meetings. Ivan put all his weight onto his back against the table, lifted his legs to push Alfred off of him. In the hit, Alfred released the pipe to avoid tumbling over the couch.

It quickly became a dizzying dance of hits and dodges and aiming and defending and attacking, Ivan evading Alfred's drawn fists and Alfred dodging Ivan's deadly pipe. At one point, an amusing thought crossed Alfred's mind.

 _Guess my government will end up paying for a hotel room after all._

He swung himself on Ivan before both tumbled onto the floor, engaging in a fierce battle to both hit the other and avoid getting hit. Alfred was pushed away and back up, and he was about to reach for his gun when he was hit across the back with the pipe.

"Don't you _dare,_ " Ivan snapped. Alfred swung his feet and managed to disrupt Ivan's balance by kicking his feet from under him. Alfred manoeuvred himself, with the help of Ivan's pipe, up onto his feet. He turned to see Ivan up on his feet as well, coming towards him at great speed. Straight in the line of fire, Alfred was flung out of Ivan's by a mix of his own dodge and a powerful shove from the Russian. He fell over the couch, toppling into the coffee table and tilting it over to its side. The emptied bottles were launched into the wall by the force of Alfred's crash, as were the glasses, all shattering and tinkling onto the mat in a sickeningly violent, clear rain of glass. The guns were also thrown to the floor, out of Alfred's eyesight - much to his dismay. He saw Ivan standing on the other side of the couch, his expression pleased at the ruffled state of Alfred's crumpled shirt, his mussed hair, and his fierce expression.

At this an annoyed growl before heaving himself onto his feet, driving towards Ivan with enough power to dent cement. The pipe was knocked out of Ivan's hands, Alfred grabbing Ivan's collar in a manner reminiscent of earlier that day - he drew his other fist back and landed a punch on Ivan's cheek, which sent him flying into the wall. When Alfred came back towards Ivan with his fist drawn once more, he ended up punching the wall and noticing two dents of equal depth in the thick wall.

Alfred whirled around to face Ivan, adrenaline and delight hazing his mind, hate fueling his violent anger towards the Soviet. For a moment, their eyes met, reflecting similar feelings. And then the moment was gone, and Alfred was once more dodging the swing of the pipe. He felt searing pain in his shoulder, the pipe having narrowly missed his head, but the full force of it hitting his shoulder. He was thrown back, into the upturned glass table, which shattered under the American's weight. Ivan came to stand above Alfred - which the western superpower took advantage of by once more swinging his feet at the other's ankles.

Ivan lost his balance, and he was soon being pressed into the shatters of the table, Alfred snarling at him from above and glass digging painfully into his back. He saw Alfred looking around the floor, searching for something.

"I don't know how we manage to do this and not start a war," Alfred said, a vicious smile on his lips.

"Because _this,_ " Ivan hissed, grabbing hold of Alfred's shoulders and switching their positions, "isn't official." Ivan didn't expect the knee that came to his gut, pushing him off the American once more. Alfred reached for the gun he had just found, and tucked it into the back of his trousers. He wouldn't need it for a good while yet.

"Tell me, why do we keep this unofficial?" Alfred asked with a devious glint in his words. He pushed himself up to his feet and went to grab a chair at the table. This he promptly smashed against the table with such force that it heavily chipped the table - needless to say, the chair was left in pieces. Alfred brandished the chair's leg as an equivalent to Ivan's pipe. Never could he oppose the Russian without equal standing.

Ivan barked a laugh. "It would not be half as fun, now, would it?" He asked rhetorically.

It was like this every time - neither could keep count of the amount of hotel rooms, of nameless bars, of meeting rooms destroyed by the sheer violence they exposed each other to. But it was always the two of them, it was only the two of them. It was their shared secret, every broken table and torn bed and shattered lamp was only for them to know of. No other nation ever knew what went down behind closed doors, and they never would. It was that cool restraint they exhibited in meeting rooms, that frozen silence and those cold glares and biting words that the world saw, it was those pointed jabs that were reminiscent of the stabs of icicles, it was that quiet competition that was laid out for the world to see. But it was only when they were the two lone people in a room that they revealed their true colours. It was only then that those cold glares turned heated, that those frozen words meant something, that that silence melted - burnt away. And both of them relished in it.

It hadn't always been like this - and maybe that's why they kept it to themselves. They could remember days when kisses weren't bruising, but soft and healing. When arms were wrapped around bodies to hold, not choke. When hands did not punch or claw but brushed or caressed. Perhaps it was because of those memories that they kept it behind locked doors, to continue that privacy, uphold that intimacy.

And when Ivan's pipe swung once more in Alfred's direction, it was met with Alfred's weapon of choice. The pipe's bend locked with the chair's broken leg, and Alfred used it to his advantage to drag Ivan to him. He grabbed Ivan's by the shirt, and Ivan pushed him back until Alfred's back met a wall.

"Look who's caught between a rock and a hard place," Ivan smirked. "Go on, worm your way out of this one, _dearest._ "

"I'm good," Alfred smiled sweetly, the words too gentle and too soft to accompany the look in his eyes. "What would you say about moving this somewhere more... comfortable?"

Ivan's hands ran down Alfred's sides, until the American suddenly felt his feet leaving the floor - and not in a pleasant way. He saw the world tilt and twist for a moment, before feeling all the blood rush down to his head.

Wait, _down_?

"What the f- _let go of me right now if you don't want a nuclear war on your conscience!"_ Alfred shouted, trying to find a vantage point somehow. He hated it, he hated it all, he hated the Russian, especially when the _fucking commie slung him over his shoulder-_

"What conscience do you speak about?" Ivan laughed, Alfred glared at Ivan's back.

The American tried to straighten up, straighten himself out and somehow get himself off of Ivan's shoulder and pay him back for all the shit the Soviet kept pulling on him - he thought they'd agreed on fair play!

"Braginsky, I swear to fuck there will be repercussions-"

"I can deal with those after I've dealt with you," Ivan said offhandedly and Alfred sputtered.

"Don't - fucking what do you - fuck off! Leave me alone! You're too tall, this isn't fair! Let me _go_!" Alfred shouted. Demanded. Not that that had any effect whatsoever on the other. Rather than resigning himself to his fate, Alfred doubled his efforts - or was going to, when Ivan flung him back over his shoulder and Alfred landed on his bed.

"What the fuck, Braginsky?!"

Ivan looked at him with a darkly innocent smile on his face. "You said to let you go. I let you go."

Alfred drew in an irritated breath, ready to punch the Russian square in the face. He nearly managed to scramble off the bed, before he realised where it was he exactly had been placed. Alfred snorted.

"Is this what you call seducing me into your bed?"

"Technically it is your bed, and I'm not sure I need to do much seduction," Ivan noted with amusement.

"Well you're going to have to do a _lot_ better than that," Alfred snarled. "Take your blockade out of my w-"

"Hm... and what will you do for me?" Ivan mused.

Alfred laughed. "Me? Do for _you_? Not declare a war on you, and let you preserve your dignity!"

The look Ivan gave him betrayed the words he was about to say. "Not good enough."

Alfred felt his irritation rising again. "Look, you bastard," Alfred hissed, sitting up and whipping out the gun from behind his back. He pointed it straight at Ivan's forehead, standing up to place it right against it. Ivan eyed Alfred with amusement. He then went behind Ivan, before forcing the Russian to turn around and driving him backwards. "What's not good enough here, is _you,_ " the American snarled. "So either you decide to fuck me, or we're gonna have a problem. It's your pick, Russki," Alfred finished, pushing Ivan onto the bed. Alfred tilted his head, the weapon still pointed at Ivan.

"Have I ever told you how incredibly provocative and tempting you look like that?" Ivan asked.

Alfred arched an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Pointing a gun at me, with your flaming eyes and your very roughed-up look," Ivan listed, a clearly predatory look settling into his eyes.

Alfred removed the gun, smirking at the Soviet. "That's more like it," he said, before he was dragged down into a harsh kiss.

Needless to say, both nations' government ended up footing a bill for an almost renewed hotel room.

* * *

The next morning, Alfred woke up to a warm but empty bed. He was settled deeply between the cushions and the sheets, but found himself getting out much too soon for his liking. As he dressed and looked for an aspirin to alleviate the pain his lower back was in, he found himself looking for one of his cufflinks. He could find only one of them, the other seemed to have vanished without a trace from his nightstand. He dropped down to search for it under the bed, and there it was, glaring and glinting golden in the sunlight streaming in from the window. He picked it up and went to set it onto his other sleeve, only for a deep glare to settle on his face.

His eyes had gotten over the bright sun's reflected rays on the piece of dark gold - which was not at all dark gold. It was bright and shining, but it wasn't obvious enough to have been noticed immediately. But he found himself staring straight at the Soviet emblem, the star, the wheat stalks, the world and the hammer and sickle in high relief above the letters "CCCP". He compared it to his own, very-much-American cufflink, and noted that the difference was subtle enough. Placing the link in place, he swore at the blatant disregard Ivan had shown by taking Alfred's.

He got out of his room fifteen minutes later, wearing a pristine suit and looking just about ready to kill - or at least injure a specific Russian. He saw Arthur and Francis leave the room adjacent to his, and in greeting them noticed the surprised looks on their faces. Perhaps Ivan and he had not been very quiet in their doings last night. Plus, they had probably already noted the barely perceptible limp and the cut on his forehead. But he brushed past them, having a few words to give a specific Russian.

He didn't really care whether Ivan wanted some sort of memorabilia from his visit to Alfred's room, he wanted his cufflink back, damn it.

* * *

Note on setting:

\- Set during the Berlin Blockade, 1949. When the US and Britain joined their zones in Germany economically into Bizonia (Trizonia when France joined later on), the Soviet Union was angered because this was against what was agreed after the war (that all four occupying nations would decide together on events in Germany). Plus this was a step towards the creation of a West German state, which the Soviets weren't thrilled about - they had been at war with Germany twice in the last fifty years. So, they decided to find a way to force the Western nations out of Berlin in order to have Berlin all for themselves, or to at least have the newly instilled Deutschmark out of British and American occupying zones (a new currency that was not used in Soviet occupation area, as the currency used in their occupation zone had been devalued by both the inflation, war, and now the Soviets - a reformed currency would have meant an economically stable Germany, which they did not want). They cut off all land connections to West Berlin, and then afterwards water and air connections too. The Western nations were greatly outnumbered by the USSR due to post-war scaling of armies, and the US had never had that many troops in the European theatre in the first place - 23,000 men (US plus Britain plus France in total) in Berlin against 1.5 million Soviet men.

However, three air corridors between West Germany and West Berlin had been agreed in 1945. And while the Soviets could send clear signals that military planes could be shot down, and Americans could have no say in the fact should they cross the line, the Soviets could not stop commercial supply airplanes who simply refused to turn around from reaching Berlin. Their only option would have been to shoot the planes down, and that would have been shooting down an unarmed, harmless, humanitarian aircraft - either that, or back down. The British started a supply airlift first, then Americans joined it. 1500 tons of supplies had to be flown in every day, or Berlin would succumb to the need of accepting Soviet aid. While their system stumbled at first, at some point they managed to lift jointly 1000 tons a day - but this was only viable for a short-term airlift. The Soviets saw it as a "futile attempt ... to save face". The system had to be reworked a number of times, but at its best, planes arrived every minute and unloading took five minutes. Supplies even reached 5000 tons a day, and the airlift became successful. Once sweets began to be dropped into Berlin, and major manufacturers and children all over the US sent candy to Germans, Operation Vittles (name of the airlift operation) became also a propaganda success. As the Soviets were militarily more strong, but were under the strain of post-war rebuilding, and saw their attempts were leading nowhere, they soon found themselves backing down.

\- Additional note on Ivan's comment:

 _Ivan: "[...] nuclear monopoly?"  
Alfred: "That last one, I already have."_  
 _Ivan: "Not for long."_

While Americans were the first to gain nuclear weapons, and held the only ones in the world at that point, by 1949 Soviets were well on their way to getting their own. The USSR announced, in August 1949, to have successfully tested nuclear weapons, and thus began the arms race between the US and the USSR. (While it had taken them four years to develop A-bombs after America gained them, it only took them nine months to catch up with H-bomb tests. Plus the Soviets' greatest nuclear weapon yield (the amount of energy released by a bomb) was much greater than Americans' - 58 megatons (Tsar Bomba, USSR) against 15 (Castle Bravo, US). Just some interesting facts about nuclear testing during the Cold War.)

\- CCCP is Russian/Cyrillic for USSR.

\- Pictures of the cufflinks, if you're interested (and yes, before you ask, I spent ungodly time looking up the perfect model for stupid cufflinks):

USA: cufflinksdepot dot com (slash) p (slash) 05VCL3453-SG (slash) Gold (plus) Presidential (plus) Seal (plus) Cufflinks dot html

USSR: ebay dot com (slash) itm (slash) VINTAGE-SOVIET-RUSSIAN-CCCP-USSR-HAMMER-amp-SICKLE-BRASS-RUSSIA-COIN-CUFFLINKS- (slash) 400763700913

 **A/N:** The moment when you're having fun with two characters being sarcastic at each other and snarling subtle insults and all - and then remember you still wanted to write in a ton of _other_ stuff, too. I decided to add the last bit because it just came to my mind and I found it hilarious. This turned out better than I thought. Before you say anything, I know that my characterisation varies a lot in this fic: Alfred and Ivan going from nearly at each others' throats, to holding a civilised conversation, to actually physically being at each other's throats, then nearly fucking against the wall, some humour, then violent again and then actually fucking. But I wanted to present the fact that their relationship is extremely complex and multi-faceted. They once were best friends, perhaps even lovers before all of the Cold War even began. So they love each other, obviously. But then everything happened, and they are now in a Cold War, and they deeply hate each other for all the shit they pull against each other all the time. I mean, they're their people, so the people's thoughts merge with theirs. But that love is still there, and they respect each other deeply, they regard the other as a worthy opponent - more nemeses than enemies, you know? Theirs is perhaps one of the most complex relationships to write in my opinion. So this thing happened, and I decided to show how various and complicated their relationship is. So you got this! I hope it was done with some fluidity? That it wasn't just completely out of the blue?

Needless to say, I will never ever ever grow tired of antagonistic, destructive, rough and violent but still sweet (bittersweet, more like) Cold War RusAme. I am doomed.

By the by, I promise to have the next chapter of MAD ready for January 29th, when my fic will officially be a year old! (Good God, a year, and I am nowhere near done with it?!) But I haven't started the next one for my historical RusAme. Oh well,...

Anyway, I'm done with my rambling, any comments and reviews and all are appreciated! Thank you!

Until next time!


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